angel

eyes flickering between you and the man at your side, the guy who couldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer scoffed. “you’re dating rafe? there’s no way—” cutting him off, you reached up on your tippy toes and planted a kiss on rafe’s cheek, your lipgloss leaving behind a shimmery print on his skin. rafe would be lying right now if he said he wasn’t confused as fuck about what was going on, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to pick up on the fact that you needed obvious saving. “you’ feeling up my girl?” you ignored the way a rush of butterflies erupted in your tummy when rafe spoke up, the baritone of his voice making you jump ever so slightly.

you watched as the guy stammered over his words, a mix of gibberish and rushed apologies falling from his lips as he held his hands up in surrender. “nah, man, it wasn’t anything like that!” he backed away, walking off before the situation could escalate. you didn’t realize how hard your nails were digging into rafe’s skin until he placed his hand over your own. “sorry.” you whispered, adjusting the purse on your shoulder before letting go of him. rafe studied your face, the drink in his hand suddenly being the last thing he could worry about. “are you okay?” he leaned down to talk in your ear, his cologne filling your senses at the close proximity.

you smirked at your screen when you saw that rafe opened the pictures of your pretty tits that sat perfectly, pushed up in your lacy bra. he didn’t type anything for a few minutes so you decided to text him again.

YOU 5:46 PM // not even a thank you? ungrateful brat.

after that he replied, but not with a text.

RAFE 5:48 PM // *1 attachment*

your eyebrows furrowed, confused why he sent a video instead of a text back, you opened it, to see rafe slowly stroking his unexpectedly big cock. you could hear him moaning softly in the background, no not moaning, whimpering. for some reason you couldn’t stop staring at the screen, playing the video 3 times. and because it took you a long time to reply back, rafe texted again.

RAFE 5:54 PM // sorry was that too much?… i shouldn’t have sent that..

you snap out of your thoughts, so many things running through your mind as you looked at the video.

YOU 5:55 PM // no keep going.

RAFE 5:56 PM // okay..

as he took his time taking a good video, you couldn’t help but take a video of yourself squeezing your tits through your bra to send to the nerdy boy who was shamelessly sending you videos of himself stroking his cock.

YOU 5:58 PM // *1 attachment*

RAFE 5:58 PM // *1 attachment*

you and rafe send the videos at the same time, you open his and he was stroking his cock way faster than before, you could see it twitching in his hand, and you could hear him breathe out “m so close.. m so close” faintly in the background, so cute

YOU 6:01 PM // you only get to cum if you make our next assignment for science for me

RAFE 6:02 // ill mke it

his texting was messy as he was typing with one hand

YOU 6:03 // you better, now cum.

i got super tired sorry so no whiny rafe at the end 💔

You remembered the horror on your mother’s face when you first took a bite of the raw meat she was preparing when you were only five years old. It wasn’t cooked at all, not even rare, just raw and disgusting, the blood still oozing out of it if you poked at the flesh. It was seasoned, with nothing more than pepper and salt, but that was only a side to the real meal. You bit the meat hard, like it was cooked and edible, swallowing like it was the best food out there, naive to the disgusting action you had just commented. Your mother didn’t yell, she never did, she was always gentle. She just cleaned your face off, despite her trembling hand and the wide eyed fear in her eyes, then sent you off to your room to play while she cooked the meat. But you were insatiable. Since that day, you wanted—craved—more. Dead cow meat didn’t satisfy. You didn’t understand it then, but looking back, you had always been different from everyone else.

It wasn’t too long after that you committed such a violent act again. You were only seven years old, two years after the discovery of just how delicious raw, cold, bloody meat could be. You’d been playing on the swings in your backyard with the babysitter, your parents out on a date after a busy week at work. It was getting late and the sun was setting, but it looked like the sun had been setting all day with how cloudy the sky was. The dark, gloomy weather had always been your favorite, finding odd comfort in the gentle breeze that sang a peaceful lullaby for you and in the patter of the rain against the gutter, harmonizing with the wind's swooshes. Your babysitter, Emilie—you still remembered her name and her smile so bright, it reminded you of the prettiest stars—urged for the two of you to head inside, the wind getting stronger and the sky getting darker, signifying a thunderstorm. But ever so in awe by the sky, you refused. You refused and refused until she practically had to drag you back inside, and even there, she wasn’t rough like other babysitters had been with you before. She was gentle like your mother. In fact, her caring nature reminded you a lot of your mom, and though you had seen her in the morning , too much time had passed and you missed your mother. And maybe that’s what fueled your desire: it was the comfort Emilie provided.

You remember sitting at the kitchen counter, eating cookies and waiting for your parents to come home, with Emilie by your side, when you suddenly bit her.

Like any child, you had your own weird habits, and you were a biter. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, and sure, maybe you were getting older and it was getting odd, but you knew better, and it was always playfully. Except for this time. You remember how your teeth sank in her flesh, reminiscent of a furious dog, desperate to protect and stay safe, biting anyone that reminded them of danger. But Emilie wasn’t danger, she was safe. She was sweet, and she was caring just like your mother. And now, you had your teeth sunk into her shoulder, biting hard as the metallic taste of blood filled cookie crumb covered lips. You savored the taste of her flesh, even the chemical taste of her perfume—smelling like roses and lavender—was appealing to you. It didn’t bother you, this was the one thing you didn’t want clean. Oddly, the taste of her perfume added to the moment, it was familiar, reminding you of the coppery scent of the uncooked meat you ate two years back. It was comforting, and as she yelled at your violence, it only encouraged you to give in to your hunger, eating away at her flesh like a ravenous zombie who hadn’t eaten in days—and in a way, you hadn’t.

The uneasiness of what you just did hadn’t hit you until your parents got home from work. The filthy, feral, cannibalistic act of eating someone else was shameful. Your mother screamed at the sight, but your father shushed her, yet their horror was the same. You had never seen your father looked so terrified before, and it made you nauseous to think that you were the reason he was scared. The carpet was bloody and the bones were left, you didn’t eat her bones, just her flesh, and even then, the little fat of her body that you left was unrecognizable, now stained with the deep maroon color of her own blood and your saliva from your greed for more.

Though you were young, you quickly caught on that what you did was wrong, punishable even. But you didn’t get punished. Your father ushered you upstairs to your bedroom, claiming that he’d clean the mess. But on your way up, your mothers sobs from your parents room taunted you for the unredeemable cruelty you had taken part of, the unforgivable sin you commited. That night, you got on your knees and prayed, hard and desperate, borderline begging to the god above, the one your parents had been so excited to bring you up on, for forgiveness. You prayed and prayed until your knees were bruised, your mother’s sobs and then your father’s hushed whispering motivating you to keep asking for redemption, apologizing over and over again and wanting nothing more than to wash away the sin. You promised to never do it again, childishly sticking up your pinky to the sky as proof that you meant it, only to be meant with the loud crack of the thundering sky, a sharp denial of what you begged for and the sound you once found comforting mocking your rotten ways.

“Man up.”

The words echoed though his mind like a loud noise in a cave, dizzying him as his hands trembled when cutting up the cocaine. It seemed to be all he was good for nowadays. He had never been his father’s pride, that was his sister, Sarah’s—and even sometimes Wheezie’s—job. That was her role in this family while he was nothing more than different in his father’s eyes. No matter how hard he tried, he wasn’t enough, he wasn’t good. He was no good, he was destined to be the fucked up child, the black sheep of the family even, filled with such anger and spite for his relatives, it shouldn’t have been a surprise when he finally snapped at his father.

Perhaps snapped wasn’t the most appropriate word. He’s yelled at his father before when arguments got too heated, he’s taken hits and he’s fought back as he got older. So, he’s snapped before, but he never snapped in a way that was so feral and bizarre to human kind before. So animalistic. It was like he was infected with some disease that made him more irrational than he usually was. He couldn’t blame drugs or alcohol for the incident, he was completely sober when it happened.

But even sober, there was nothing normal about his erratic behavior. He knew there was something wrong with him, he remembers being young, about 10 years old, two years after his mother died, hearing his step mom—if he could even call a woman he despised—voicing concerns over his mentality to Ward. He knew there was something wrong, of course he did, but it felt weird, shameful, even to hear other people assume that there was something wrong with him.

Coming back to reality as he caught a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror, he finally took note of the blood staining his face, the disgusting red against his skin made him feel sick, a mockery to the high class image he presented himself to be. It was just a reminder of what a mess he was. If his mother could see what an atrocity he just committed, he was sure that was when he’d finally feel guilt for what he did to his father.

As far he now knows, this wasn’t the first time he was this animalistic. At least not according to the man now lying dead and disemboweled in his own office. It serves him right for prioritizing work over his own son. Of course, Rafe knew what he did was wrong, that doesn’t mean he felt bad for the bastard of a father he was dealt. Yet, he couldn’t help but wonder what made him this way.

According to Ward, the first time he “ate” someone was when he was eight years old, back when his mother was still alive. Rafa had been helping her bake some cookies, it was one of the few cherished memories he had of his childhood, the rest was a blur. All he truly remembers was that his mother was dead shortly after, and that his hands that had once been cold from the cookie dough were now warm with a foreign substance. He doesn’t remember what happened, just read in the kitchen and the taste of something raw, maybe cookie dough, maybe flesh, in his mouth. However, he does remember Ward coming home from a business trip—he was always away—and how he stumbled upon the sight of his then wife bloody and lifeless, cold like how Tannyhill would soon become.

That was the first time Ward told him to man up. Like any son realizing his mother was gone, he had been crying, unaware of how much it was all his fault, and his father wasn’t having it. Angry and irritated from a flight home, that was the first time Ward hit him, and it wasn’t anywhere near the last. He remembers going to the bathroom, tending to his bruises and injuries after washing the blood off his hands with cold water, thankful that Sarah was spending the night at a friend’s and didn’t have to witness the horrific sight.

For years on after that, he never knew what truly happened, but many assumptions came to mind. Maybe she cut herself with a knife, maybe it was a suicide, or maybe he killed her. All those thoughts crossed his mind, leaving him frustrated each time that he couldn’t vividly remember what exactly went down. But never once had the thought that he ate his mother, ate her like a human eats a steak, savoring on her flesh as if he got it confused with the cookie dough.

When his father told him that after another one of their fights, he snapped, calling him a liar, an asshole, and any other vulgarity that came to him in his fit of rage. But deep down, Rafe knew Ward must’ve been right. It made sense, he couldn’t remember anything else. Maybe he had blocked it and he did feast in his own blood just like he did in his father.

Angry and offended at the sheer accusation that he would do something so inhumane, Rafe threatened his father, saying he’d do the same to him as punches were thrown and blood went flying through the room. Before he knew it—and even then, he still wasn’t too sure how it escalated to that point, he was over his father, for once having the upper hand, and eating him, bones and all, as if he had been starved his whole life.

But no, Rafe didn’t feel guilty. He didn’t cry, he was a man. Men didn’t cry, his father taught him that the day his mother passed, and he wasn’t going to change that now that Ward was gone too. He felt confused. He didn’t know why he was like this and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. All he knew was that it was wrong, but it surely wouldn’t be the last time it happened. He had always been insatiable, wanting more than he had, and with this newfound desire for human flesh, he wanted more and more until he was satisfied.

Looking back at himself, he ignored the coke, a miracle in its own and likely the only one left in his life, and washed his hands clean, using cold water like he had 11 years ago, scrubbing away all sin.

The discovery that he was responsible for not only his mothers death, but now his fathers too, was unsettling and overwhelming, and he planned to leave this stupid, good for nothing town behind.

It’d be easy too, all he had to do was pack a bag, grab some cash—which he had plenty of—and skip town. There was nothing holding him back. Family was nothing to him. His parents were dead, Sarah hated him, and wheezie, poor wheezie, was stuck with Rose. So he’d leave first thing in the morning, he needed some rest tonight, and only sleep, he didn’t need to be reminded of what he just did. He promised himself to never speak upon it either, he’d take it to his grave no matter how quick or late it came. He’d have time to think of what he’d done as he drove far away from this place, he’d call it a road trip to make it seem more normal, so he’d feel normal. But as he cleaned his hands, ridding them of any evidence of the crime against nature he just committed, Rafe knew that there was something very, very wrong with him.

Your eyes sail to the left—feminine care. The kind that wouldn’t involve anything more than a week of inconvenience, an explanation for the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes right now.

You look up at the ceiling and blink a few times; the fluorescent bulbs leave your vision swimming, one warm, fat tear rolling down your cheek before you can stop it.

Your fingers hover for half a second before you reach out and grab a pregnancy test, then again for a box of tampons, the latter quickly covering the first like a shield, like someone is watching.

You’re just about to turn the cart around when another cart rolls to a stop beside you, making you gasp.

She’s wearing a matching pink yoga set, her hair pulled into a sleek ponytail. Her wedding ring sits heavy on her manicured finger, large enough to catch the shitty lights you took refuge in moments before.

A little boy clings to her thigh, maybe three or four; his face tucked into her leg. “She’s trash at her job, Jason,” she snaps as she reaches out without hesitation, practically pushing past you to grab the same pregnancy test you had hidden, tossing it in her basket. “I’m watching your kid. Buying my own pregnancy tests. Like what is this? This isn’t my responsibility.”

You slip past her, walking down another aisle, snagging a bottle of Advil off the shelf as her voice disappears toward the front. You take a deep breath, letting your heart slow for a moment, grabbing a bottle of water too before you make your way to the register as well.

She’s still on the phone when you reach the front, barking about how the woman you can only assume is her nanny doesn’t know how important it is that the celery be organic in her pressed juice— “Ma’am?” The girl at the register calls out. “Mrs?” She tries again. “Do you have a MyCare card?”

The blonde purses her lips, nose scrunching despite the preventative Botox enough to let her know she doesn’t have it and she doesn’t need it. The boy tightens his grip around her leg, pressing closer. The woman waves her AMEX in front of the register, not bothering with goodbyes.

When it’s finally your turn, the girl behind the counter looks up at you with a polite smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes—young, brunette, short hair pulled off her face in a neat ponytail; the name tag sitting lopsided and weathered.

“Find everything okay?” She asks softly, and you nod, your eyes drifting toward the door as she rings one item, then the next. She doesn’t react.

“Mhmm…”

“That’ll be $19.88.”

Your fingers tremble just slightly as you wave your card, the receipt ribboning out, the bag passed back to you like a weight in your grasp.

The doors whoosh open, bringing in the night air, carrying Rafe’s laugh with it, making your stomach sink. Those three words you were breathing through to keep your sanity shift into something different entirely. Rafe is so happy.

The truck is still running. Rafe’s back is pressed against the side, still deep in conversation with his old friends. His eyes meet yours and he smiles at you like he always does—a smile that says he’s better when you’re around. The weight of the bag feels even heavier than before.

It can wait.

“There she is,” he grins, pushing off the truck.

But before he can reach you, someone else gets there first— “Holy shit. Rafey?” She squeals, warm and familiar, a complete one-eighty from the woman inside. That nickname slipped her filler-filled lips like nails on a chalkboard—like she’s said his name a million times before. “How are you? You look amazing.”

Rafe blinks, stunned for a split second, embarrassment and guilt clouding his wide eyes, red heat creeping across his cheeks anyway.

He gives her a casual nod, stuffing his hand in his pocket, the other wrapping around your waist when you walk closer. “Been great,” he mumbles, clearing his throat when it comes out hoarse. “We’re—uh—we’re home for the holidays.”

The rock on her finger makes the corner of his lip quirk, eyes sliding to his buddy, catching to see if he caught the same thing, before returning to her. “You, uh…” Rafe gestures vaguely.

“Married?” She chirps. “This past fall,” she says, wincing. “Kaylor’s dad.”

“Kaylor?” Rafe asks as his eyes widen. “Like… your best friend Kaylor?”

“It’s a little complicated now. But, sure. Somethin’ like that—” And as those words leave her lips, a scream rips from the backseat.

“And, that’s—”

“His kid—Kaylor’s brother. My son, I guess.”

“You guess?” Rafe asks under his breath, like he dodged a bullet. “Congrats. To you and uh, Kaylor’s dad.”

“Oh fuck off,” she laughs and rolls her eyes, walking to the driver’s side. “Always a pleasure, Rafey.” The boys surrounding you try their best not to laugh but the chuckles squeak past their lips as her car rolls in reverse.

“Let’s get outta here,” Rafe mumbles under his breath as his buddies talk about their plans for the night, using that little exchange as your out, guiding you to the passenger’s side, promising the guys you’ll meet up with them later at Topper’s.

You shove the bag into your purse, quickly clicking your seatbelt, feeling your anxiety rise again when he looks over at you and smiles nervously. “Uh… Umm, what did you get in there, baby?” He asks, trying to distract you with a question but you’re thinking the same thing.

“Just some stuff I forgot—who was that?” The sentences topple over each other in a desperate move to shift the conversation away.

“Gwen,” he mutters, shaking his head as he looks through his rearview mirror, backing out of the spot. “We just—hooked up and shit. Nothin’—nothing serious or anything. I mean, you met her.”

“Her best friend's dad?” You gossip.

“Her best friend's dad,” he confirms, through a sigh. “More money than god. Can’t say I didn’t see it comin’.”

He pulls out of the lot without looking back, his hand quickly finding your thigh, the other twisting around the steering wheel. His jaw’s still tight from the encounter, muscles coiled tight like he can’t quite get comfortable, but the second your hand rests on top of his, his shoulders fall.

“You okay, baby?” He asks as his rough thumb traces gentle circles on your skin.

“Yeah,” you say, your voice cracking, making him double-take, your response spinning up his nerves once again. “She grabbed a pregnancy test,” you add, looking ahead at the dark road in front of you.

The reaction is instant, unfiltered, just like when he saw that ring on her finger—just like it was when he found out just who gave it to her.

“What?” He lets out a short laugh, like he heard you wrong. He exhales through his nose, already over it. “That’s fucking insane.”

His eyes narrow on the road, imagining it all, the look on his face making your stomach turn.

“At our age?” He continues. “With a kid already?” He clicks his tongue. “That’s just… dumb.”

“Yeah,” you mumble, agreeing softly but the reaction is doing nothing to balm your worry.

“I mean, what is she thinkin’, huh?” He rambles, words tumbling out in that loose, careless way he gets when he’s worked up but not invested. “You’ve got your whole life ahead of you and you’re gonna—” He cuts himself off with a shake of his head. “Nah,” he says, easy. “Couldn’t be us.”

He drums his thumb against the steering wheel, irritation already dissipating, the music on the speakers filling the cab around you and the road hums beneath you.

He doesn’t notice the way your voice thins, your palms clammy, hands trembling in his, too focused on your reaction to running into her that he can’t see what’s happening right now—right beside him. How each word that leaves his lips haphazardly is nailing you like a shot to the heart.

“Just some Figure Eight bullshit,” he mumbles.

And you don’t say another word—not because you disagree, but because you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to unhear how easily he said it.

Music thumps through the walls, bass pounding in your head. The two of you barely made it through the front door of Top’s before you were pulled away, thrown in the middle of a group of his boys and their girls for the night, talking about college and life and everything in between. Just noise.

Kelce got to him first, grabbing his shoulders, smiling wickedly as he mutters something about weed and yayo. Topper swoops in right after, already pressing a drink into your hands, gesturing for the two of you to come to the living room.

You hang back, letting Rafe know you’re running to the restroom, disappearing down one of the many halls, putting space between you and everyone else, but you need to know…

You push open the bathroom door and lock it behind you, and everything stills.

Lowering yourself onto the closed toilet lid, you let your purse slip from your shoulder, the soft thud it makes against the marble floor sounding louder than it should, making you flinch. You breathe in through your nose and out your mouth, then again, trying to convince your body to slow down.

Your fingers drift toward the zipper, drawing it open, listening to the metal teeth splay. You could take the test right now—you could know. You could walk back out there with a peace of mind instead of panic. You could enjoy this moment with your fuckin’ boyfriend—the thought claws at your throat, stomach twisting in knots, the cold sweat on your skin making you tremble.

Your hand slips inside, grabbing the box—BANG. BANG. BANG.

The gasp punches from your chest; you scramble for the zipper of your purse, standing up quickly, the heavy wooden door rattling on its frame. “Come on!” A voice snaps from the other side, impatient and annoyed. “People gotta fuckin’ piss! No coke in the bathroom.”

“One sec!” You call back quickly, your voice coming out small and thin.

This is not the time. Not here. Not like this. Not with the music thumping through the walls and strangers pounding on the door and your chest aching.

When you unlock the door and step back into the hallway, pushing past the guy waiting impatiently, you start walking toward the noise. The bass hits your chest, the room tightening around you as you press back into the crowd.

And then you see him.

Rafe is sprawled on a couch, legs spread, glassy-eyed and laughing. His knee bounces quickly, grin stretched wide, his pupils robbing the blue from his eyes.

There’s a girl beside him, her tanned legs crossed, jean skirt riding up her bare thighs. She leans in close—too close for your liking.

Your eyes drift back to Rafe, rolling a hundred-dollar bill between his big fingers, white powder laid out in a small line on the glass-topped table.

He leans forward without hesitation, taking the bump, filling his nose with a sharp snort, his eyes lolling back before they pinch shut. The tension he was holding slips off him, his head rolling as if it’s working out the last bit of stress from his neck.

Your stomach sinks, not because it’s shocking—not that the two of you haven’t talked about what he has and hasn’t done before—but because it’s the first time he’s done it in front of you.

The warmth of the week in Miami evaporates instantly. That softer version of him—the drive, the kisses, the whispered I love you—feels suddenly far away. Rafe feels far away.

He still hasn’t seen you yet, his name right on the tip of your tongue as she rests her hand on his thigh, jealousy burning hot. She leans in further, slipping money into his hand, smiling like she’s sharing a secret.

Rafe finally comes to, glancing down at her, double-taking like he thought it was you for half a second before he realizes it isn’t. He shifts immediately, sliding down the couch and putting space between them. “You good?” He asks her.

She giggles and rolls her eyes, biting her lip as she nods, bleach-blonde hair spilling over her shoulder. “C’mon, Ray. Please?”

“What’s this?” He asks with a short, condescending laugh.

“Forty—”

“Forty?” he repeats, flat, and a few of the boys chuckle at his tone.

“Please,” she says again, lips pouting, head tilted with that look in her eyes like this has worked on him before. Rafe’s reaction is the opposite of what she’s expecting. “I know it’s not enough,” she adds sweetly. “Let me make it up to you.”

Rafe lets out a short, mean laugh, rolling his eyes away. “Nah.”

She blinks, thrown completely off. “I just meant—”

“Shit’s not workin’. Tell your boyfriend he owes me the rest,” Rafe cuts in, already turning away, his attention drifting before the sentence even lands.

She lingers anyway, laughing awkwardly, fingers brushing his arm like she’s waiting for him to change his mind.

He wipes his nose with the back of his hand, careless, unfocused. “You takin’ this one?” He asks Topper, gesturing vaguely toward coke.

Topper shakes his head.

Rafe doesn’t wait. He bends forward again, quick and impatient, snorting up some more. He cleans his nose half-assed before tilting back into the couch, head sinking into the cushions, her hand lifting to rest on his chest as the girl leans in to whisper something.

He snatches her wrist and shoves it away, the whole group of boys laughing without a filter now.

“If you ain’t her,” Rafe says flatly, “you can go.”

“Her?” She asks. “Sorry. I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.”

Rafe’s eyes meet hers again, and he looks at her like she’s said something genuinely stupid. “The fuck are you talkin’ about? Of course I’ve got a girl—”

“He’s always got a girl,” Topper mutters proudly as he lights the end of a blunt.

“I’m not lettin’ shit slide—I’m not cuttin’ you a deal,” Rafe adds, taking the joint from Kelce and resting it between his lips.

His heavy eyes drift, and he notices you about three seconds too late. The last bits of color drain from his face. He pushes the smoke out through his lips, passing the joint back to Topper, hands cutting through the haze like he’s trying to clear the air.

“Baby,” he says, standing too fast and catching himself on the arm of the couch when he stumbles. “You good? You—I was gonna come find you. You want a drink?” He asks, already moving around the table toward you.

“Look who it is,” Kelce smiles up from the couch, handing you the weed like a peace offering—like it’ll soothe the sting of whatever you may have seen. “You smoke, right?”

Rafe reaches for you immediately, body angling in, his hand finding your lower back. “You don’t have to,” he says quickly, his smile trembling on his lips.

You shake your head gently, giving the boys a shaky smile of your own. “I’m fine.”

Rafe stays close, arm tight around your waist, staring back at the other people at the table. To the people who knew him from before college. Before Miami. Before you did.

“This is my girlfriend,” he says, loud enough to cut through the music, loud enough that everyone who heard the “her” comment with the girl on the couch would know that you were the her in question. But it's too loud—too performative for a coked-out group of Figure Eight’s finest, who truly couldn't give a single fuck.

He keeps talking, words tumbling out. How you met. How easy it was. How perfect it’s been. How you’re different. How he’s never felt like this before.

Your gaze drifts as embarrassment courses through your veins.

Your eyes fall to the table again—cash folded small, coke dusted across glass, the girl’s folded cash mingled with the rest of the little stack he made on your short trip to the bathroom. The drugs you didn't even know he had when you arrived—but you're finding out a lot about him tonight.

“Alright,” Topper says suddenly, clapping his hands together once, sharp and decisive. “Kitchen? Shots? Let’s move this.”

Kelce laughs immediately, backing him up without question. “Yeah, yeah. New spot.” His big palms reach out, swiping the coke dust away fast, grabbing the wad of cash, handing it to Rafe with a low pass, moving to the other room already.

Rafe’s hand finds you, tightening around your wrist, asking yet again. “You good, sweetheart?” He murmurs as he dips in close, tucking himself into your neck for the moment.

“I just need a minute,” you say softly, keeping it between the two of you.

“Baby—”

“Rafe,” your voice breaks a little with unease and it shatters him. “A minute just—please.”

His grip softens, fingers threading into yours like he needs the reminder that he has the right. Like this is something you'll still allow him to do.

“Okay,” he says warmly, nose skimming your cheek, pressing a kiss against your temple. “I’ll be in the kitchen. Come find me, okay? Or—Or I'll find you, alright?”

You nod and move, pushing through the crowd, stepping out onto the balcony, your pulse loud in your ears as the cold November wind cuts across your skin.

The pool below glows electric blue, light rippling as tears gather in your eyes, blurring everything around you. You lean against the railing, knuckles whitening as you focus on breathing slowly, trying to steady yourself, your attention drifting to the darkness beyond the pool, the nothingness of the ocean ahead, even still, the wheels in your mind refuse to stop turning.

Maybe you don’t know him like you think you do.

The thought settles low in your stomach, heavy and unwelcome. Rafe told you he wasn’t perfect. He warned you that he had a past, and you believed him. But seeing him here—back home, back in his element, surrounded by boys who knew him before you ever did—lands differently than hearing it whispered in the dark, when his voice was soft, his hands steady, and he looked at you like you were the exception.

The hair along your arms lifts, and that’s when you feel it—that quiet, instinctive awareness that you’re not alone out here. There are people you don’t know everywhere, sure, but then there’s a flash of familiarity that pulls the rug out from underneath you.

She stands at the far end of the balcony, half-turned away from the house, wrapped in an oversized sweatshirt, her arms folded tightly around herself. She nods absently at whoever is speaking beside her, but her attention isn’t there. Her gaze is fixed through the glass doors, straight into the kitchen, straight at Rafe.

And suddenly, everything clicks. The weathered drugstore name tag flashes in your mind—Sofia. The cashier. The woman behind the register. The name that meant nothing when you read it, because it didn’t have to. Rafe’s Sofia. His ex.

You look back through the glass just as he pours three more shots, liquor sloshing clumsily over the rims. His hand braces against the counter, steadying himself as he says something low to the boys and they nod, tapping the glasses against marble before tossing them back.

When your eyes return to Sofia, she still hasn’t looked your way. Maybe you’re just another blur of a customer in the shuffle of a night she already forgot. Either way, her expression doesn’t change—still fixed, still aching, still tethered to a version of Rafe that existed long before you.

Her jaw tightens, her mouth pressing into two thin lines as she lifts her cup to her lips, masking her reaction even though you already saw it. The softness hardens, curdling into resentment, and your stomach drops because you already know why.

You follow her gaze just in time to see a redhead round the corner, another one of Rafe’s girls you’re sure, her whole body lighting up when she spots him. She doesn’t hesitate. She doesn’t check to see if he’s here with anyone else. She doesn’t ask before she stakes her claim, arm slipping around his waist.

He turns, smiling thankfully, drunk and high, relieved above all else, burying his face into her neck the same way he buried it into yours earlier, the way he always does. His shoulders loosen, and his breath leaves him in a thankful exhale because he thinks it’s you.

“Fuck, Rafe,” you whisper bitterly, the words slipping out before you can stop them and your blood runs cold. You don’t have to look to know she’s watching now, but you do anyway.

Sofia’s eyes finally find yours, and in them you see it—that same understanding of what you mean to him, and why you’re out here. She probably saw him on the couch, laughing with his friends, having fun. She probably came out here to work up the confidence to walk up to him. The two of you needed a minute, needed some air; you just didn’t know you’d need it in the same place at the same time, for entirely different reasons.

Her face breaks, just a little, just enough that you catch it. Because not only did she lose Rafe, there is no reconciliation tonight. No lingering possibility. No unresolved tension waiting to be eased, nothing she’s been holding onto since he left for school.

And that pregnancy test she rang up earlier—for a girl who meant nothing to her in that moment—means everything now.

She turns away from you, from the glass, choosing the darkness beyond the balcony too. She lifts her drink and takes a slow sip, posture steady, dignity intact, and something about that hurts worse than if she’d said something.

And, at this moment, you can’t bring yourself to care whether she knows about the pregnancy test or not—or anything else, for that matter.

You bite the inside of your cheek, tears burning hot behind your eyes as your body moves on autopilot. Your legs feel numb as you push open the balcony door and step back inside, the noise swallowing you whole.

Rafe’s head lifts, his eyes blinking a few beats before panic sets in as he realizes who he’s holding. He shoulders past her immediately, hands reaching for you fast.

“Hi—hey, baby,” he stammers, pulling you into your usual place against his chest, but it doesn't feel like yours. Her perfume clings to his shirt, his steady heartbeat hammering against your ear. “I thought that was you. I’m sorry, baby,” he whispers just for you.

You don’t answer, looking out at the wrong time, watching her expression twist.

“Who’s that?” One of her girlfriends murmurs nearby, just loud enough for you to hear.

“The fuck if I know,” she scoffs, already popping the cork off a bottle of tequila, her laughter tight. “Not from here. That’s for sure—”

“My girlfriend,” Rafe cuts in sharply, making everyone look your way. “She’s my girlfriend.”

“Oooh,” the other girl sings, tipping back the shot with deliberate slowness, eyes dragging over you where you stand tucked into him. “That’s new.”

Your stomach drops, Rafe’s big arm tightening around you like he can feel you slipping.

“Aww… You good, babe?” She asks you with faux concern.

“She’s fine,” Rafe mutters. “Stop being a bitch, Cass. Big house—don’t you got somewhere else to be?”

Cass laughs, delighted, like she got exactly what she wanted. “Well, Cameron,” she slurs, swaying slightly in her heels, “I was waitin’ in our usual spot, but it looks like you came prepared.”

“Fuck you—”

“I was trying to,” she cuts in smoothly, lips curling. “She not doin’ it for you, Rafey?”

The color drains from Rafe’s face, his brows shooting up in panic as he reaches for you, but you’re already pulling away without warning.

Your body draws like a magnet toward the door. Your heart fragile and two seconds away from shattering beyond repair, unable to take anymore run-ins with the girls who came before—the universe testing your patience when you’re clearly holding on by a thread.

And just like Sofia, you try to keep your dignity intact, tears swimming in your eyes—not falling, but even through the party you can hear him behind you pleading with you to stop.

“Baby, c’mon—”

You shake your head, gentle but final, as he spins you back toward him. “I can’t. I can’t do this anymore tonight. I’m—just let me go,” you push the words out through it all.

“Shh—hey—hey. Sweetheart. We can go somewhere quieter. Just you and me—”

“I want to leave. I don’t want to be here anymore,” you shut him down, tearing away, your body trembling with adrenaline, shoes sticking to the slick floor as you push through unfamiliar faces.

You take the stairs, tearing down the front walk like you have an escape plan, even though you don’t. Even if you wanted to leave together, Rafe is too far gone to take you home.

“Baby, please—just wait—don’t leave. Just—just let me call us a cab. Please. Please don’t leave me.” His voice cracks on the last word, and it nearly breaks you with it.

The cold bites at your cheeks as tears spill over, hot and sudden. You swipe at your face, gasping for air as his footsteps close the distance and he catches your wrist again, breathless and unsteady, the smell of liquor heavy on him.

“Where are you going?”

“Where am I going?” You repeat. “Anywhere but here.”

“You can’t just leave. You don’t even know where you are—”

“I’m not helpless, Rafe.” The words come out sharp, edged with fear and humiliation. “I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can,” he says quickly, frantic. “I know you can do everything without me. I just—I don’t want you to.”

“I’m done with tonight,” you say, your voice breaking despite yourself. “I’m done with this party. I’m done feeling like I’m just another one of your girls, Rafe.”

“You?” He drags a hand through his hair, pupils blown wide from the coke. “That’s the last thing you are to me.”

You swallow, your chest tight with it. “Does Sofia even know the two of you aren’t together?” You ask softly. “Because the way she was looking at you doesn’t feel finished.”

He exhales hard through his nose, like the name alone is a trigger, and for the first time tonight his voice steadies. “She cheated on me,” he says plainly. “More than once. She knew exactly what she was doin’. And before you ask, I didn’t leave for school and forget her,” he continues, words coming slower now, more sober-sounding than he’s been all night. “I left already done, alright? I don’t owe her anything. I didn’t owe her closure tonight. She’s not gettin’ shit from me. She’s sure as hell not taking away the only thing I care about.”

He reaches out, taking your hand in his, cold and clammy, tears pooling in his red-rimmed eyes.

“Rafe—”

“I don’t care about her,” he cuts in. “I don’t care if she’s upset. I don’t care if she’s still thinkin’ about me. That part of my life ended before you ever showed up. These girls—” He swallows hard. “I told you I wasn’t perfect, and I was fuckin’ serious, alright? But they mean nothing to me. None of this means a goddamn thing to me. My life—my life sucked before you—”

“YO, RAFE! YOU TWO GOOD?”

The moment shatters as Topper sticks his head outside the front door, looking down at the two of you with Kelce by his side. Your eyes lift, catching Cass and her friends in the kitchen, watching through the window, your stomach turning and your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“WE’RE FINE,” Rafe bellows back, forcing the words out, and you watch as the girls laugh, glancing at the scene like this is nothing new, like this is just vintage Rafe Cameron in his natural form.

“I need some space,” you whisper.

“Space?” The word breaks on his lips as a thick tear slips down his cheek, Rafe wiping it away quickly with the sleeve of his shirt.

Shoes crunch along the driveway. Keys jingle as the shadows of two figures move closer. You catch sight of the brunette again—Sofia. Her under-eyes glisten with tears as she walks away from the party with her friends looped tightly around her for support.

Her steps falter for a moment, like you were the last people she was hoping to see. You turn your body slightly and her face falls, eyes fixed on her feet as they move, her friends’ eyes cutting daggers into Rafe. He looks back at her friend stone-cold, no emotion, his jaw sharp, eyes sharper.

Their steps disappear down the path, giving you a moment to collect yourself. You look back up at Rafe and his eyes are already on you, just waiting for what you’ll do next. You take a deep breath, your hand wrapping tight around the leather strap of your purse.

“Just go be who you were before me,” you say quietly. “I don’t have it in me to compete with tonight—”

“What competition? What are you even talking about?” He asks, and for the first time all night it feels like he’s sidestepping it, like he understands exactly how awful that sounds and he cannot make himself admit it anyway.

“Don’t play stupid, Rafe. Four of your exes in one fucking night. Remember how worked up you got about one of mine? Add three and see how that fucking feels.”

“I’m sorry—” He starts, reaching for you, pulling you back when you start to walk away. “There’s just—somethin’ else goin’ on with you,” he says quietly, like the thought’s been circling him all night and he finally put his finger on it, and that realization makes your stomach drop. “I don’t know what it is, but I can feel it. You’ve been off—” He swallows hard. “You’ve been hurtin’ about somethin’. I know it. I know this shit didn’t help, but there’s something going on with you, baby—”

“Nothing’s wrong, Rafe,” you whimper.

“I’m serious,” he cuts in, desperation sharpening his tone.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like you get to figure me out,” you say, and you can tell your words hurt. “You don’t.”

His mouth opens, frustration flashing across his face as he tries to come up with the right thing to say but he’s too fucked up.

“That’s not fair,” he says, quieter now, wounded and hurt, biting his cheek as he loses the fight with his emotions, each puzzled blink of his eyes sends tears down his cheeks.

He looks at you for a moment, chest heaving from the fight, eyes searching your face for the words he knows you’re not saying, because despite everything he doesn’t know, he can feel that this isn’t the whole story.

“I’m done.”

“With me?” He asks softly, his eyes glittering under the streetlights, lip trembling, tears wicking cold down his chin in the wind, too devastated to even wipe them away.

“No,” you whisper. “Just with tonight.”

And through the heartbreak, you see a flicker of relief anyway, because he takes a step back, putting space between the two of you like he finally understands he has to. You turn before you can change your mind, walking back the way you came at the beginning of the night, because you know if you look at him again you’ll fold.

The ground crunches beneath your heels, each step a reminder that you dressed for a party and not for this. The neighborhood stretches out in front of you, quiet and pristine, lined with massive homes lit warmly behind iron gates.

Your phone glows in your hand, the previous location showing Rafe’s childhood home two miles down the way as you route yourself there, the device trembling as the tears refuse to stop coming.

And the second you take a breath, your phone vibrates in your hand—back-to-back calls from Rafe that you do not have the heart to decline. You just let them ring through as your feet slap against the pavement, keeping time with the rapid thrumming of your heart.

Headlights bloom up from behind, casting your shadow onto the sidewalk in front of you, and you know it has to be someone from the party—the only question is who. Your hand wraps around your waist instinctively, your face turning toward the estates instead of the road, the embarrassment of leaving without Rafe—small, but still there.

The engine does not zoom past, though. It crawls, getting closer and closer. Your steps quicken and the vehicle behind you matches your cadence.

You glance back, catching the front of an unrecognizable truck just as the engine rumbles lower, pulling up beside you, the window rolling down before you can even catch up.

“Hey,” the voice leaves his lips friendly, but you are already facing forward again, hand going for the strap of your purse, ready to rip it off and swing it if you have to. “Hello?”

“Please,” you say immediately, your voice thin and breathless, wiping the tears away with your sleeve like you can hide the fact that you’re falling apart. “Leave me alone, alright?”

“Nah. Hey—hey,” the man says quickly, a gentle laugh like you’ve got him all wrong, like he knows you’re scared and you have no reason to be. “I ain’t trying to hurt you. Honest. You’re Rafe’s girl, huh?”

“I—” Your throat tightens. “…Yeah.”

“Alright,” he says simply. “Then get in.”

You hesitate, instinct screaming at you not to trust him. He leans out of the window, his denim shirt messy with dirt and motor oil, Barry stitched in frayed white lettering across the chest, a lit cigarette pinched lazily between his fingers; gold tooth glinting as he smiles.

“I’m takin’ you home. Ain’t no way I’m lettin’ you walk back to Tanneyhill alone, and ain’t no way Rafe Cameron ever forgives me if I leave you out here like this. I insist.” The truck slows down, putting you in front of it again, instead of alongside, the man waving you to the passenger side.

“Okay,” you whisper, the word barely audible as you step back toward the truck.

The door shuts and your phone keeps buzzing, Barry’s truck pulling forward as his window rolls up. He turns the music up a little, and just before the window seals shut you hear it—a voice coming from behind, your name shouted and clipped off.

You look through the side mirror and sure enough there’s Rafe, sprinting after you, panic radiating off him like a wave with his phone glowing in his hand, the horror in his face unmistakable as you pull away, the darkness of the night swallowing him up behind you.

Barry’s hands settle on the steering wheel, knuckles rough, and work-worn. “Boy losin’ his mind or what?” He asks, a crooked smirk tugging at his mouth. “No way you’re walkin’ home alone if he didn’t fuck up or something—what he do?” The same smile plays on his lips, soft like he’s trying to ease the tension.

“It’s nothing,” you respond softly. “You… Uh—You know Rafe?”

He lets out a quiet, amused laugh that sounds like there’s too much history and not enough patience left for it. “Know him?” He grunts. “Yeah, I know him. Lucky me, huh? Kid’s a fuckin’ mess.”

“He must’ve turned things around then,” you say, more to fill the silence than anything else.

Barry hums, cigarette bobbing as he speaks, “Turned things around, huh?” He repeats slowly. “That what he told you?”

“He’s—He’s just fine…” Your voice shakes, not sure how to answer anymore.

“Sure,” Barry drawls. “Until he ain’t.” His tone stays casual, almost bored. “Daddy’s money, nose full of snow, heart full of nothin’… You one of them rich girls too?”

You can hear the judgment starting to bleed into his tone for you, just a slow drip, about the fact that you don’t know him—like you know the version of Rafe he wanted you to see but Barry knows the man underneath.

“No,” the word breathes past your lips.

His eyes flick back to you, slower this time, lingering just a second too long, his truck swaying on the road. “You seem different.”

The truck hums steadily beneath you, the world around you blurring together in the dark.

“Guess he finally found somethin’ worth keepin’, huh?”

You nod, eyes drifting toward the passenger window behind you, your reflection staring back at you, mascara clinging to your cheek. You try to level your breathing but your eyes lift, catching his gaze in the reflection of the glass too.

His eyes drop, lingering somewhere else, making you draw in a breath. “Gift, then?” He asks, eyeing the watch Rafe had just bought you before you left for vacation, the glimmering tennis bracelet he bought you too ‘just because’ shining like a spotlight stacked next to it. “Must be nice. Someone always payin’ for pretty shit.” You gasp—heart leaping in your throat as he knocks the gold YSL emblem with his ring. “Lucky you.”

The engine snarls, the truck lurching forward as Barry presses harder on the gas, the area around you is nothing like what you’ve seen before—your cellphone buzzing nonstop.

“Could you slow down?” You ask, and he grins, eyes still fixed ahead as his fingers curl around the wheel.

“Rafe ever tell you what he owes me?”

Your stomach turns, chills racing down your spine as your better judgment screams I told you so over the pounding of your heart. “No…”

“’Course he didn’t,” Barry says easily, blowing out a cloud of cigarette smoke in your direction, laughing like he’s tired—like he expected nothing less. “Country Club left for college. You think he paid me back?” His voice booms through the car, the smile still slicked on his lips as he shakes his head. “I’ll let you guess.”

He doesn’t wait for your response, sucking a deep drag of his cigarette, letting the ash free-fall as the needle climbs.

“Spendin’ money on frat-boy bullshit, Miami, you.”

Your chest tightens painfully. “I didn’t know—”

“’Course you didn’t.” He mutters bitterly. “He don’t tell no one nothin’. That’s his trick. Boy’s good, I’ll give him that. Probably makes you feel pretty special.” He takes the turn hard enough to make you brace yourself. “You feel stupid yet, princess?”

“Please—” You start, voice breaking.

He exhales toward you again, laughing when you cough. “What’s in that fancy bag, huh?”

“Stop,” you scream, and he dives for it—the whole car jerking as he yanks it from your hands, the zipper screaming as he tears it open, rummaging through it fast.

He digs through it, fingers clumsy and half-focused as the truck barrels forward; lip gloss, change, receipts, nothing he wants to find until there is. The corner of his lips curls into a smirk as he finds a little wad of cash, eyeing it fast, clicking his tongue like he’s unimpressed. “This it?” He asks. “This all you got?”

He pockets it immediately, turning onto Rafe’s street.

“You runnin’ around with Rafe motherfuckin’ Cameron,” he continues, eyes fixed ahead, “and you’re carryin’ what? A hundred bucks?”

The tires screech, slamming to a violent stop in front of the driveway. Your body snaps forward, seatbelt tightening, pinning you in place.

He hurls the purse in your direction, hitting the passenger’s window, sending the contents clattering across your lap and the floor.

Your eyes widen on the pregnancy test in your lap. Everything goes silent. For a moment, he just stares at it.

Then he laughs, slow and mean. “Ain’t that somethin’,” he mumbles, shaking his head. “Whore’s luck.”

You choke on your tears, breath hitching as your hands shake, and you scramble to shove everything back into the purse. Your fingers fumble blindly in the dark, desperate to leave, but the truck’s still locked.

You gasp as his hand snatches for you, closing around your wrist, too tight to fight. The watch… He twists your arm just enough to see—just enough to hurt, his eyes dropping immediately to admire it.

He yanks it off, then the tennis bracelet next, your wrist bare but locked in his hold. You whimper, small and broken, wincing as you wait for what he’ll do next. “Please,” you beg, voice shaking. “Please—don’t—”

“Good thing,” he says calmly, like he is explaining something reasonable, “you might be pregnant.” Your head shakes frantically as he plucks the cigarette from his lips. “I’m feelin’ generous tonight.”

The cigarette presses into your skin.

“I’d have killed you otherwise,” he adds calmly, and you scream; the pain hits you white-hot and absolute, smoke curls as it brands the soft skin of your wrist, your body jerking away but he stays firm. Your sobs flee your lips soundless, tears pouring from your eyes.

“Let me go, please,” you bawl, your voice gone, face turned away, buried in your shoulder.

“Well, would you look at that,” he chuckles. Your eyes peel open, finding him looking through the mirror with a grin on his lips as Rafe comes sprinting up behind you. “Runnin’ all this way. Goddamn. You might be his favorite one, huh?” He mutters meanly, the unlock button sounding like a starting gun, leaving you racing for the door handle.

You spill out of the truck, hitting the ground hard, clutching your purse to your chest as the driveway bites into your palm and knees.

The engine roars and the truck peels away, taillights disappearing down the road, as Rafe’s footsteps pound closer.

He drops to his knees beside you, breath broken, hands trembling as they hover uselessly over you, like he does not know where it is safe to touch you.

His eyes catch on your arm, seeing it all—the empty wrist, the angry red burn branded into your skin, and he’s on his feet in the next breath, sprinting after the truck as it rolls toward the stop sign, shouting hoarse, incoherent threats into the dark that echo off the trees.

When he stops, his chest is heaving; hands knotted behind his head as his lungs burn, heart pounding so hard it feels like it might split him open. He squeezes his eyes shut for half a second, but when he opens them again, you’re gone.

He runs back toward the house, taking the steps two at a time, slamming the front door open hard enough that it bangs against the wall, the sound cracking through the quiet house.

“Baby?”

The word rips out of him, the only thing he can manage before silence answers back. His shoes slap against the marble as he follows the strip of light at the end of the hallway, the faint hiss of running water mixing with your uneven breaths and the soft, broken sniffles he hears through the door.

You’re standing at the sink, shoulders trembling as you tip rubbing alcohol over the fresh burn on your arm. Your jaw clenches as you brace yourself, a cry slipping through your teeth when the pain hits again. The smell reaches him instantly—sharp, sterile; painfully clean. “Baby, hey,” he says, his voice cracking. “Look at me. Please.”

You don’t turn around. His voice feels muffled, distant, even though he’s right next to you—and even if it were clear, you couldn’t make yourself respond.

He catches your reflection in the mirror. You look scared and shaken, your face washed with tears, dissociated from the world around you—from him.

From the man standing behind you, hollowed out and broken, realizing too late that even if he wasn’t the one who touched you, his unfinished mess is what put you in that man’s path.

He reaches for you and your body flinches on instinct, and the reaction devastating him more. Rafe pulls his hand back immediately, raking it through his hair instead, his breath stuttering as he forces himself to stay where he is.

“Talk to me,” he says quietly. “I want to know what you need right now. Please.”

“He stole everything, Rafe,” you whisper. “I—I need to get out of here.”

“Then we’ll leave,” he says quickly. “Right now. We’ll go.”

You shake your head, the movement small and helpless. “I couldn’t get on a fucking plane even if I wanted to. All of it is gone—my wallet, my ID, my credit cards—everything.”

He sees it then, the way the walls are closing in on you, the panic weighing on your shoulders, crushing you below it. His jaw tightens as he swallows back tears, knowing he does not get to fall apart right now.

He bends down and lifts your purse from the floor, setting it carefully on the counter, like he’s afraid even this might scare you again. He tips your purse onto the counter, slower now, more careful than anyone has been with your things all night.

The contents scatter softly; receipts slide, lip glosses roll, your phone lands with a dull thud, the screen glowing despite the cracks, a spiderweb splintering the picture of the two of you on your lock screen.

His attention drifts, and the question he asked you earlier is answered without any words at all.

Is something else going on with you?

The answer sits right there on the counter, in the wreckage of your night, and it hits him all at once. Yes. He just didn’t know how deep it went.

Rafe looks up at you first, then down again.

His fingers hover just above it, the same way they did when he found you on the ground, too overwhelmed to know what to do with himself. He picks it up nonetheless, drawing a deep breath. When your gaze lifts this time, you do not look away.

“Are you?” He asks quietly, then hesitates. “Do you think you’re—”

“I don’t know,” you say, heat burning behind your eyes as you see the fear reflected back at you in his face.

He nods once, chewing on his lip, his voice barely steady when he speaks again. “Did you take one before?”

You close your heavy eyes and shake your head. “No.”

“Can you?” His voice frays at the edges.

“I’m too scared.”

“Why?” He asks, and he knows the answer’s going to hurt but he needs to hear it.

Your lips tremble before the words come out, your voice thin and shaking under the weight of everything you feel.

“Because I don’t know you, Rafe,” your voice slips past your trembling lips. “I barely know you.” Your chest aches as you try to breathe through it, but the panic sits too high—too tight around your throat. “Tonight, after everything that just happened, it scared me—”

“I’m so sorry, I—”

“All night, Rafe… all fucking night I was surrounded by people who know a version of you that I don’t. I don’t want this,” you say quietly. “I want a normal life. I want to feel safe. And I don’t know if I can have that with you, because tonight—tonight you weren’t who I thought you were.” Your voice breaks. “Or maybe you were. And I don’t know which one is fucking worse.”

Rafe looks back at you like the floor just dropped out beneath him, like there is nothing left to grab onto. Tears tumble down his cheeks as he looks down at you, his lips parting again, and just like before nothing comes out.

“He said you owe him money, Rafe.”

“Like nothin’,” he says honestly, his voice breaking, stripped of its bravado. “It wasn’t even that much… like two grand—I forgot.”

“You forgot?” You stare at him, disbelief cutting clean through the tears. “And in what world is that not a lot?”

He drops his gaze, shame flooding his face so completely he has to look away. He rubs his hands over his glassy eyes, not an ounce of confidence left.

“I’m going to fix this,” he says, the words tumbling over each other. “I swear I am. I’ll make it right. I’ll fix everything, okay? I promise.”

The promise hangs between you, thin and fragile, and he can tell you don’t believe him like he wishes you would.

Then, slow and careful, he steps forward, guiding you toward him, chest to chest, your fingertips grazing his, but he knows the contact’s more than he deserves. His head tilts in, lessening the space between you; half-hiding his face to mask the tears he can’t stop—but you can hear it in his words.

“The person you know—that’s who I am.” He swallows hard. “You know me. You do, baby. Tonight—” He shakes his head slightly, fingers twiddling against yours anxiously. “I don’t wanna be that person. I don’t. I’m not proud of what you saw—what happened to you. I'll never forget that and I'll never forgive myself. You know that.”

He sniffles a little, adjusting on his feet, the tears sliding down his cheeks landing warm and wet on your shoulder. He breathes out a shaky breath against your skin, and it breaks your heart how much this exposure stings—the person he was before suddenly clear, suddenly ugly, in a way you cannot unsee.

“I’m gonna walk back to Top’s. I’m gonna get him and Kelce, right now. I’m gonna get your stuff back. I’m gonna pay Barry. I’m ending all this shit—every bit of it. No loose ends, I swear to God. I’m not letting anything else happen to you.”

Rafe’s voice softens, fear clinging to every word, his breathing slowing with yours.

“I’m fucked up,” he admits quietly. “I know I am. But I’ll stop—everything. All the stupid shit I use to feel big or numb or whatever the fuck was because being with you… it’s easy. It makes sense. I’m fucking happy. And pregnant or not none of this is fake. None of this was ever a game. No competitions. Nothing. Only you.”

He pulls back enough so you can see his eyes—vibrating with a want to wrap his fingers in yours but he doesn't know if he can anymore.

“I’m who you think I am,” he whispers. “I’m me around you. I’m the best version of myself when I’m with you. I’m who I—” His voice catches. “I’m who I want to be.”

His voice softens, the look in his eyes pleading with you to believe him.

“I know you want to leave and I get it. I know you got that test and you don't want to take it, but you don't have to do any of this without me. I want to go with you. I want to be with you. But I know I don’t deserve you,” he says quietly, without defensiveness or drama. “Never have. I know that. But whatever happens tonight—whatever happens after this—I swear to you,” he says softly, “I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that the guy you met is real. I swear I’ll make good on my word and I’ll keep you safe. You’re it for me.”

Your throat tightens, tears springing in the corners of his eyes, emotion and heat climbing up your throat.

“I’m not ready to be a dad,” he whispers. “But if that’s where this goes, I’ll learn how to be. I’ll mess up, I know I will—but never like this. Just the little things—nothing that'll hurt you or make you doubt us.”

He forces himself to keep looking at you, even though it hurts, even when his pride tells him to break. He inhales shakily, stepping forward, letting his forehead rest against yours.

“You’re gonna be okay. Whatever you decide. You are going to have a life, and I'm not gonna get in your way. Whatever choice you make about your life—I won’t take that from you. I won’t drag you down. I swear.”

His lips press softly against your forehead, lingering for a moment.

“I love you,” he whispers into your skin. “More than I’ve ever loved anything.”

He pulls away before you can answer and heads toward the door.

You hear the front door open, then close.

You do not have the energy to clean up properly. You do not have the energy to think about anything beyond the next steps you need to take back into the bedroom. Your feet pad against the cold wooden floor, shutting the bedroom door and turning off the lights.

Everything falls into darkness; a newfound quiet surrounding you, heavy and needed, like a weighted blanket. You walk toward your suitcases, opening his instead of your own, tugging on one of his t-shirts, the fabric swallowing you up as his cologne clings to the cotton.

You crawl into his bed and sink into the mattress, pulling the covers up around you tight, letting your eyes close for a moment and the second they do you’re met with nothing. The man you got so used to seeing on the other side, gone.

Your tears come quietly at first. They slide down your cheeks, soaking the pillow below. You try to be quiet, even though there is no one left to hear you, the effort making your head pound.

Your eyes shut again, too heavy—your body too tired to keep them open anymore. You do not think about the test on the counter or the burn on your arm, or the life you wanted before tonight.

All you can think about is him.

You wake with your head pounding, a dull pressure sitting stubbornly behind your eyes, like a hangover.

You push the covers back and sit up carefully, instinctively looking toward the side of the bed where Rafe should be, but it’s still empty. Your stomach drops, fear spiking fast and sharp, hands patting blindly at the mattress for your phone as you stand, legs unsteady beneath you. For a split second it feels like he’s gone, like the night ended worse than you remember—but when you turn, the panic dissolves.

Rafe is there.

He’s slumped awkwardly in the armchair by the window, asleep in a position that looks less like rest and more like surrender, like he never meant to sleep at all and his body finally gave out sometime in the night. One arm hangs off the side of the chair, fingers swollen and split across the knuckles, while the other rests loosely over his stomach.

On the small table beside him sit your watch and your bracelet, laid out carefully, side by side.

Your breath catches when you see his face, swollen from tears and bruised from brute force. Deep purple shadows paint the underside of his left eye, dried blood faintly tracing his cheekbone, his lip split down the center.

You turn away before the weight of it sends you spiraling again, moving toward the bathroom.

Your purse is there on the counter, opened and organized. Everything is inside. It is not dumped or tossed back together, but arranged with care, like he took the time to put something broken back into order, even when he didn’t know how to fix anything else. Your wallet sits where it should, your cash and cards tucked inside, and beside it—the pregnancy test.

You reach for it, fingers closing around the plastic before you can talk yourself out of it again. You sit on the edge of the toilet, watching your hand tremble despite how familiar the instructions are—how many times you read them and put the box back. You fumble with the perforated edge, nerves clumsy and uncooperative.

When it’s done, you set it on the counter and turn away, this time on purpose.

Your body moves, crossing the room, climbing into his lap before you can think about it anymore. He startles awake immediately, fear flashing across his face before recognition softens it, the tension draining out of him as soon as he realizes it is you.

His arms come around you slowly, carefully, like he is making sure he is allowed to hold you at all. You lean into him, and he exhales shakily, forehead dropping to your shoulder, holding you close.

He buries his face into your neck, breath shaking against your skin—a tear landing on your collarbone, then another as “I’m sorry” slips from his mouth with each shaky exhale.

He’s crying silently, shoulders trembling as he tries not to make a sound, fingers digging into your skin with a desperation that makes your chest ache. You cup his cheeks gently and guide his face up just enough to see him, his eyes impossibly blue as tears cling to his lashes.

“I love you,” you whisper first, your voice quiet but certain.

His mouth purses and his nostrils flare, trying to answer you without shattering because even though you have said those words hundreds of times since they first breathed past your lips, they mean something different now.

“I love you,” he whispers back, his voice barely a sound at all. “I love you so much.”

Your eyes fall to the table beside you and his follow, nodding toward it.

“I should’ve never let it happen in the first place, but,” his voice drifts away, hands shaking as he reaches for it, “I got your stuff back, baby.”

You smile gently as he guides your wrist, biting his lip when he sees the bandage just below where the jewelry’ll sit, a cruel reminder that you are still carrying pain from last night, and that even in his arms it still hurts—and it will for a while yet.

He dips in, pressing a tender, apologetic kiss against your soft skin before he slides on the bracelet, then the watch, clasping them again.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, quieter this time, not letting your hand go, kissing your knuckle, one then the next.

“I know,” you whisper.

“Plane leaves today at noon. I booked myself a ticket too, but I can always cancel if you need some space.”

You cup his cheek in your hand and he leans into it, your thumb brushing along his stubble as his eyes close; lashes skimming the apples of his bruised face.

“I don’t want space from you,” you whisper, and his eyes pinch a little tighter, another tear tumbling down his cheek that you rub away.

“Thank you, baby,” his voice breaks, hoarse with emotion.

“I took the test.”

His eyes lift, looking ahead for a moment, collecting himself before he looks up at you. “What did it say?” He asks.

“You told me I don’t have to do any of this without you,” you say, your voice wavering, a nervous smile pulling at your lips as his expression softens in understanding.

“And I meant that,” he breathes. Your fingers card through his hair nervously, fighting back tears.

“I’m scared,” you whimper.

“Me too.” He echoes your emotion, his strong arms binding around your body, pulling you into him. Your bodies tangle together, the two of you barely holding on, but there is comfort in him knowing—in doing this together. “We’re gonna be okay,” he whispers against your skin, pressing a kiss against your hair, sealing the promise and you nod, snuggling a little closer for the moment. You can tell he’s trying to be strong for you; his body language, secure while his heart races away.

You push up and stand again, reaching out your hand, and he takes it immediately.

The light is softer in here now, morning sun diffused through the bathroom mirror, and when you stop in front of the counter you catch sight of the two of you reflected back. You see yourself first—tired, swollen-eyed, held together by that same thread you thought would break last night, but you’re stronger than you thought—and then you see him behind you.

Rafe’s hands come to rest at your waist, warm and steady. In the glass, his face is beaten, still marked by last night, but his eyes are clear. He does not look like the man he was last night—he looks like the Rafe you love. Your Rafe.

You swallow, your gaze dropping toward the counter before you can stop yourself, then lifting again just as quickly.

“I can’t,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says immediately, gentle and sure, lips kissing your cheek then your temple. “That’s okay.”

He turns into you, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you toward his chest. You try your best to hold on, focusing on his breathing instead, matching his cadence as your head lies to rest against his strong chest.

“Baby,” he murmurs softly against your skin, turning his cheek into you, getting closer, kissing you absentmindedly. “I swear whatever happens I’ll make sure you’re taken care of—that we’re good. You gotta trust me.”

Your chest tightens, but you nod.

“Want me to look first,” he whispers, and you nod again just a little—and he does.

Rafe’s breath leaves him in a quiet, broken sound, the steady beating of his heart climbing. His hand tightens around you, forehead resting against the side of your head again, his eyes still locked on the test.

“Okay,” he whispers, and it sounds like acceptance instead of panic, like he is already bracing himself to stay rather than run.

You turn your cheek toward the mirror, looking back at his reflection, at the way his mouth trembles and his eyes shine with tears that do not fall—at the way he is shaken but not falling apart.

You look down, and the word on the test is clear.

Positive.

Your words rang through Steve’s head as you headed back to Hawkins, every single declaration that your relationship was based on fear, not true love, as if you were trauma bonded. It was a distracting thought from the danger at hand, but here he was worried about where that left the two of you. By logic, you had broken up with him, that was clear, but then again, you had said you love him, not loved as in the past, love as in you still do, and that counted for something, didn’t it? His brain was in overdrive, the whole situation leaving him confused but one thing was clear to him: He was not going to lose the girl he loves, the woman he’d like to spend the rest of his life with, to fear. He was determined to get you back and prove to you that despite the truth in your words, your relationship wasn’t only built on being scared, but also love. However, right now was not a good time, not when there was much to discuss and plan now that the whole group was going to be back together. 

After you ended your relationship, there wasn’t a chance for closure or reflecting on what exactly you just said or did. There was more urgent  things that needed to be handled, especially when Dustin was calling out your names through the walkie talkie, the sudden realization that everything that he had thought about the generator was wrong. It threw you off your game, finding out that the upside down wasn’t some alternate magic other world created by Vecna as all of you had thought, but truly a wormhole being held together by exotic matter. It was something none of you had seen coming, but thanks to Dustin’s brilliance—which you would never thank him out loud, he already had an inflated ego as it is—you’ve discovered the truth of what the upside down really was. That led you, Steve, and Dustin to rush to tell Nancy and Johnathon to avoid touching the ball of exotic matter at all costs. It was a bit awkward, having to work with Steve and pretend everything was alright, that you hadn’t just broken his heart and dumped mere minutes ago, but you thought you were doing a good job at remaining “normal.”

However, Dustin saw straight to your bullshit, sensing the tension between you and your once boyfriend. As soon as he found the pair of you, he noticed just how distant and avoidant Steve was from you, which was an odd sight because he usually clinged to you, staying close by your side as if he were your protector. But with the current strain between him and Steve, and your suddenly more quiet demeanor, he knew better than to even try commenting on it- that and because he was met with a icy glare from you before he even spoke up. 

But thats besides the point, now you were back in Hawkins at the Squawk, everyone sharing what they’ve learned from their time apart in their own missions, especially Dustin. He was up in the front of the room, drawing a diagram to explain his findings to the group. You were seated next to Nancy, after she awkwardly asked you to. You quickly found out that she and Jonathon had broken up—seriously was it with couples breaking up in the upside down? So here you were, listening to Hopper argue with the kids as ideas flew around on how his plan wouldn’t exactly work due to the helicopter being too big, and unfortunately having to listen to Robin make a crude joke about how “big” Steve was, which caused some heads to turn to you. At that moment, you remembered no one knew that you had just dumped him awhile ago, so you simply brushed off the joke with a tight lipped smile and looking away, which was unusual when you always laughed at dirty jokes. Moving on from that was uncomfortable for everyone, but Hopper—God bless that man—was quick to redirect the conversation to what truly matter: defeating Vecna for once and for all. Yet, no one seemed to be getting anywhere, just shouting over each other, everyone having different ideas of a plan which would ultimately end up failing. That’s when Steve shouted, drawing everyone's attention. He didn’t do it to be rude or because he was annoyed, but because he had a plan, one that you soon found out was the most effective, something involving the radio tower and the collision of the upside down and the real world. You were impressed with his idea, not shocked with his intelligence, knowing he had his moments—though they were rare, but he was smart when need be. 

With his plan locked and loaded, the next step in preparing for the final battle was gathering weapons and assigning roles, everything had to be perfect as this was your final chance. As a result, everyone was in scrambles, rummaging through the Squawk, emotions flying high—stress, anxiety, but for you, a deep rooted sadness. You knew how dangerous this final crawl would be, and once again, your fears butted in your head, only feeling more and more valid this time. You admitted to Steve that you couldn’t lose him, not after everything, which played a huge part in the abrupt decision to break up. But when you saw him through your peripheral view talking with Dustin, seemingly making up, your heart managed to break more than it already was. You weren’t eavesdropping, not intentionally at least, but you did catch bits of both of their prides coming down and just admitting they missed each other. It shouldn’t have brought the sad smile that now adorned your lips to your face, but it did. You knew how badly Steve had been wanting to reconcile with Dustin, it was all you heard the few times you actually listened to him the past few months. You hadn’t even realized you were staring until you made eye contact with Dustin, who smiled at you, offering you a wave that you didn’t return, eyes quickly glancing at Steve before you just turned around, ignoring two of the most important boys in your life. 

Dustin made a face, it was almost comical how baffled he looked at how you blew them off. “Dude, what did you do?” The younger boy somehow sensed that there was some trouble in paradise that exceeded a lovers quarrel. Dustin’s instigation causes Steve to sigh and clap his best friend’s shoulder, “yeah, it’s a long story, man.” 

Still reeling from being caught yearning staring, you weren’t watching where you were going as you walked away, trying to make yourself useful far from your ex boyfriend. You ended up bumping into Robin, who had a stack of vinyls in her hand. “Shit, sorry!” You were quick to bend down and pick them up as she shook her head, also apologizing for bumping into you. As you two got up, both of you burst out laughing, it was the most joyous you had been in the past hours. You smiled softly, gaze trailing to where Vickie lingered in the back talking with Max, who just recently woke up from her trance while you were in the upside down. 

”You finally told her everything, huh?” You asked the blonde girl softly, nodding at Vickie, taking note of the gentle smile that came onto her face at the mention of her girlfriend. 

“Yeah, I’m glad I do, although she did think I was just a junkie at first. But seriously, I'm just so happy I could finally be honest with Vickie, I was starting to feel guilty lying to her all the time. I mean you’re lucky, you never had to lie to Steve about all this kooky upside down stuff, he already knew-” Robin slowed her rambles as she noticed the way you looked so uncomfortable when she brought up Steve, a weird reaction when you usually smiled at the mere mention of his name. Clearly, noticing that something was wrong, her mouth formed an o, mind catching up to come to the conclusion that something definitely happened in your time apart. 

“Did something happen? I mean I noticed you didn’t sit together like you always do, and I thought it was weird, but I didn’t think it was anything too serious. And sure, it was sort of strange how you two have like barely interacted this whole time since you got back, but like again, I didn’t think it was anything major. I’m sorry, I’m talking too much, I’m just trying to piece it all together, I should probably let you talk, sorry.” 

You chuckled quietly, simultaneously sad and amused by her antics. “Robin,” you interrupted her softly. “Robin, nothing happened, we just…broke up.” The casuallness of your words and careless shrug was concerning. After all, you and Steve had been together for 3 years already, you were together before you even met Robin, the fact that you was so calm about the break up was bewildering to her. 

“YOU WHAT?!” She practically shouted as you quickly shushed her outburst, reprimanding her softly as you ignored the sudden stares directed your way for the second time today.

 You sighed, emotions heavy in the soft sound. “Look, dont make a big deal about it. It’s nothing, we just broke up, it was bound to happen. I don't know, we were just arguing like usual and I-I guess I got emotional and I made the mistake of telling him just how scared I am that something will happen to him, and he didn’t say anything back, which now that I think about I should be really mad at, but the point is, I broke up with him.” You left out the part where you declared that your relationship was more a fear based one than something romantic. “But like, what that it matter? I mean, seriously, it was bound to happen,” the repetition of your words just proved how desperate you were to convince yourself that this was what you wanted. That it was what was meant to be. “It’s not even something I should be worrying about right now, the crawl is way more important.” You hadn’t even realized you were tearing up until you felt the awfully familiar wetness slide down your cheek. 

Avoiding Robin’s gaze as you briskly wiped your face, you hadn’t noticed the way her gaze softened, poorly hidden shock as you revealed the truth of where you stood with Steve. For once, the usually talkative girl was silent, the only thing leaving her lips was a quiet oh, unsure of how to handle the revelation. A comfortable silence settled over the two of you, the understanding that the wound was still fresh and maybe it wasn’t the best idea to have a vent session in this high stressed, time crunch environment. Looking up to your close friend when you heard her sigh, you couldn’t help the way the tears rushed back into you eyes. 

“I’m not saying this to make you feel worse, but have you considered actually listening to what he has to say about all this instead of just breaking up. He clearly loves you and you clearly love him, which I still don;t understand why.”  The sad little laugh that left you temporarily paused her words as you begrudgingly nodded for her to continue. “So just talk to him, he cares about you as much as you care about him, and you don't even have to do it now, and not to rush or pressure you or anything, but with the world possibly ending tonight, there’s no better time than the present.” 

With  Robin’s words of wisdom reeling in your mind—because as witty as the girl could be, her blunt honesty always knocked some sense into you—you walked around the Squawk, searching for Steve, where you found him sharpening some spears with Dustin. You were sure that Steve must’ve mentioned something about your breakup to him, after all that was his best friend when not counting Robin. Your little inference was confirmed when you heard Dustin’s quiet “dude” and not so subtle elbow. You were picking at your rings nervously as you hesitated before turning to Steve. Dustin, ever so smart, picked up immediately on the hint that you needed a private moment, making up some bullshit excuse that would’ve made you laugh had you not been so nervous. 

You weren’t sure how to go about this and he looked so confused by the fact that you actually approached him. “Hi.” You regretted the word immediately, feeling stupid all of a sudden. Seriously, thats what you came up with? What kind of idiot says hi after a huge breakup with her longtime boyfriend? Your nervous thoughts went quiet when you heard his own hushed hi. The uncertainty still coursed through your veins, but now you felt a bit reassured that he was at least talking to you. “Can we talk, please?” 

The door shut softly behind the two of you, the click of doorknob locking echoing in the too cramped storage room. The room smelled like old metal and dust, a scent you’ve grown familiar with due to the countless times you’ve been in this closet with Steve for completely different reasons. Despite the small space, Steve stood a few feet away from you, arms crossed over his chest, reminding you of the distance between you after your fallout. The silence encompassed the room, everything feeling suffocating before you finally spoke up. 

Swallowing, you finally opened your mouth, planning on explaining yourself, but you couldn’t get anything out. Like a fish out of water, your mouth opened and closed, avoiding his gaze before you let out a shaky breath, mustering the courage to just get on with it. “I—“ It was just your luck, your voice cracked before you could even form a complete word, causing you to pause before forcing yourself to continue. “I don’t want to fight or argue, I just want to talk.” In hindsight, it felt like a silly thing to say, but you wanted to be clear with your intentions, you wanted him to know that you wanted to have a mature conversation, nothing like all the arguing you had been doing earlier. 

Once he nodded, a gesture for you to keep going, you continued talking, but not before noticing how his shoulders dropped at your confirmation that you weren’t going to argue. 

“I’m sorry.” 

 It was quiet and simple, but the apology was heavy with all the unsaid things between you. The words hung in the air between you, your hands trembling and the situation fragile, one wrong word and your attempt at reconciliation would backfire. You gulped as you braced yourself for what you’d see on his face as you made eye contact. You expected him to be angry, disappointed, even indifferent, but all you saw was tiredness. 

Steve looked tired.

He wasn’t angry, or cold, just worn down from the intensity and fragile nature of this conversation. You wanted to cry when you heard him speak, his voice hoarse and rough, similar to how it was when he cried. 

“For what?” 

The question was accusatory or defensive, it came from a genuine place and that only made this more difficult for you. 

After staying silent for a good while, your voice broke the tense silence. 

“For pushing you away. For not telling you what was really wrong earlier, for just arguing instead, for ruining us.” You let out a shaky breath before continuing, “and for deciding that we were over without even listening to you. I didn’t give you a chance to fight me on it, or just talk and im sorry.” 

You wanted to take back the words when he didn’t immediately speak, your eyes analyzing every little move. Steve finally let out a slow breath while dragging a hand down his face like this was all exhausting—and it honestly was, you couldn’t blame him for that. “No, you didn’t give me a chance,” he agreed and your pride butted its ugly head, wanting to interrupt but the looks he gave you as if he knew exactly what you wanted to do stopped you. “But I also didn’t try to take one.” 

Your brows furrowed, looking at your ex boyfriend confused by where he was going with this. “What do you mean?”

”When you told me you were scared, I didn’t say anything back. I should’ve said something back,” He paused, looking you in the eyes as he continued. “You told me you couldn’t lose me, you told me how all your distance was because you were scared, and I froze. And then by the time, everything you said hit me, you were breaking up with me.”

The sudden reminder that you had broken up with him caused your breath to hitch, as you processed everything he just said. You hadn’t expected that. The accountability and softness that graced his tone instead of the anger and hatred you were expecting. 

“If I didn’t freeze up, I would’ve told you that I can’t lose you either. But I just never realized how much it would affect you if I-“

Died.

He didn’t have to say it so you knew what he meant, but still the word managed to hang between you, heavy with all the fears that would’ve seemed silly years ago. 

Your breath hitched, trying to maintain your composure as he continued on. 

“I know things haven’t been good between us,” Steve went on, a sigh leaving the lips you suddenly longed to kiss one more time. “I know we’ve been fighting, and yeah, maybe you’re fight about us being together cause we’re scared, but that’s not why I’m dating—uh, was dating—you.”

As the words registered in your mind, settling uncomfortably as you shook your head, you couldn’t help the soft whisper of his name, as if the two of you weren't alone.

He shushed you gently, not to be rude or abrasive, but so you could listen to everything he had to say before you jumped to any conclusion. 

Uncrossing his arms, he stepped closer, cautious as the remainder of your breakup lingered when you tensed. He wasn’t as close as he usually would’ve been, but he was close enough that if either of you dared to, you could reach out. 

“I love you.” His confession was so simple, straightforward in a way that had you bracing for the worst, your pessimistic mindset expecting disappointment. “I love you not because of the upside down. Not because we’ve been through hell and back together. But because I can’t imagine doing any of this without you by side. I can’t imagine not being the one you wake up next to. And even if none of this ever happened, I would still love you because you’re you.” 

Your eyes burned, nose suddenly feeling runny as you nodded, silently encouraging him to continue. 

“I’m not saying you’re wrong,” he added quietly. “Fear has been running things lately, but that doesn’t mean I stopped loving you. Not for a second. Not when all we do is fight, not when we don’t even talk. I love you and I always will.” 

His words made the tears in your eyes slide down your cheeks like they were racing to see which would fall quicker. You gulped, eyes locked on his as he wiped under your eyes, thumb catching the drops the same exact way he carefully wiped your tears earlier in the upside down.

”I don’t want to lose you,” you whispered. He knew that you weren’t talking about losing him psychically, but losing his love because despite pushing him away, you loved him too. “I don’t want to hurt you and I don’t want to keep pushing you away either.” 

Steve swallowed, face softening as you looked up at him, fear and indecisions radiating from how tense you were in his arms. “Then don’t.”

You would’ve laughed at how confident he sounded had it not been for how serious he was. Through teary eyes at him, you looked up at him as if he had said something ridiculous.

“What?”

“Don’t run,” he said softly. “Not from me.” He paused as if he were figuring out how to turn his emotions into words. “We don’t have to fix everything right now, I’m not going to ask you for that.” 

You nodded, exhaling as your voice shook. “I don’t know what to think anymore.” 

“All I know is that I don’t like being apart, it doesn’t feel right.” 

The moment stretched, the fragile nature of your words making the silence comfortable, until your gaze dropped. Your attention was snagged by the shimmer of gold in his pocket in the dim lighted room, the reflection of the metal contrasting with the brown of his jacket. 

Your brows knit together, curiously winning you as you reached into his jacket pocket. Your heart pounded and you could swear you could hear the pulses in your ears as you realized what the small, glittering piece was. 

It was a ring. 

Your eyes glinted at the sight of the golden band, just like you mentioned liking once in passing way before Hawkin’s military ordered quarantine. You couldn’t believe he remembered, but that was the least important thought racing though your mind. He was going to propose. 

He was going to propose. 

An ugly feeling of guilt swarmed in your stomach. He was planning on asking you to marry him and you had broken up with him because of the suddenly foolish reason of fear. 

“Steve…” 

His breath stuttered as he realized exactly what you noticed. Instinctively, he shifted, and for a second you thought he was going to hide it, but to your surprise, he took it out, handling it with such care you’d think it was made of porcelain. 

The room suddenly felt impossibly smaller, tears flooding your eyes for a completely different reason. The box had slipped open and you couldn’t help but admire all the detailing of everything. 

“I want—” Steve started and immediately stooped, running a hand through his perfect hair. That’s how you knew he was really nervous. He’d risk messing up his hair like this. “I wasn’t planning on doing it today, or like this. You weren’t supposed to know until the weekend. I was going to take you out to the diner where we had our first date.” 

You smiled tearfully at his plans, reminiscing on when he asked you out all nervously. Your first date was supposed to be at Enzo’s, but his car had coincidentally broken down on the way to pick you up. You can still remember how you weren’t even mad, you were running late yourself. If anything he was more upset at making you wait and losing the reservation, but you reassured him it was all okay before ending up at your favorite diner. The memory was one you cherished, it was the start of everything sweet between you, and it was very dear to your heart. 

“Honestly, I don’t even know why I brought it with me. I think I left it in my jacket or maybe I—“

Your heart gushed at his nervous rambling, quietly interrupting him with a whisper of his name. 

“You were going to propose.” You stared at the open box fondly, tears still forming in your now softened gaze. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I was.”

Your throat closed, and you could feel yourself choking up on pure emotion. Your tears that spilled freely were further proof of just how affected you were. 

“I’’ve been thinking about it for months. I wanted to ask you because I love you. I’m so in love with you that I just can’t wait to marry you.” 

A soft sob left your lips as you wiped his tears, evidence of his love for you. 

“But then, you said that about fear being whats keeping us together and it hurt because I thought that maybe I was wrong. Maybe you wouldn’t want this, to get engaged, married, settle down some day.” 

Quickly, you shook your head, desperate for him to believe your words. 

“No, Steve, I didn’t know you were going to ask me. If I would’ve known, I would’ve never pushed you away.”

Of course you didn’t know, how would you have noticed all his subtle hints when all you were focused on was arguing or ignoring him. You glanced down at the box, carefully closing it, not to shut him down, but because this wasn’t the best moment to make a commitment for life. You wanted him to take you out and go on with his planned proposal.

Your hand made it’s way from his cheek to his hands, interlacing your fingers the same way you had before your first kiss. The space, if there was even any, between you felt lighter, the tension easing at the revelation of his plan. 

“Put that somewhere safe,” you said softly, gesturing to the velvet box in his free hand. You weren’t rejecting him or advising him to not ask you. That was clear as day because he knew you. He knew you didn’t want some rushed question in attempts to make things better. You wanted to be asked on his own terms without the pressure of your relationship falling apart or the stress of what could be the final crawl to defeat Vecna. 

He temporarily let go of your hand, crossing the room and placing the ring on one of the metal shelves. It was secured and hidden in a place only the two of you would know about and somehow that made everything more endearing. 

When he came back, standing in front of you with that smile you loved, you couldn’t help the small giggle that left your lips. 

“When we get back,” He whispered like he was letting you in on a sacred secret, “I’ll ask you the right way.” The promise floated in the empty silence of the storage room, your hands intertwined as you basked in the intimacy of the moment. 

“When we come back.” You reassured, confident that you’d be back safe from the upside down, squeezing his hand three times, a quiet ‘I love you,’ a minor tradition that started after you finally exchanged I love you’s for the first time. Everytime you couldn’t say it out loud, for whatever reason, the small squeezes would say it for you. Your smile only widened when he did it back. 

He leaned down to kiss you, it had only been a few hours since your last one, but he kissed you as if he hadn’t in months—which with the way your relationship had been, he hadn’t. The kiss wasn't rushed or aggressive, but still passionate. As you broke apart, you just smiled up at him, utterly in love.

The moment lingered, delicate and devoted, until a sharp knock echoed through the door, the doorknob rattled as you remembered you locked it. 

Breaking away from Steve, you moved to open the door only to see Robin. She was quite perceptive, immediately noticing your held hands, a small smile forming on her face as she noted that you made up. 

“Hey, lovebirds, I hate to interrupt, but it's  time. Hopper says we're moving out, like now.” 

You laughed, the noise airy and delicate as you nodded. “Okay, we’ll be right there.” Before she departed, Robin gave you a thumbs up, happy that you were back on good terms with Steve. 

You heard his breathy laugh before you turned back to him. 

“You told her?” He asked, knowing you confided in the girl just as much as he did. 

“Well, yeah, it came up. Don’t act like you didn't tell Dustin—”  

The dynamic between you was back, the teasing and playfulness. As he led you out of the storage room, turning off the lights, you thought of the glimmering ring that stayed safe on the shelf, waiting for your return. 

If you were ever asked how you ended up here, in this dark, slimy world with your boyfriend of three years exploring the same lab you were sure was shut down and destroyed, you wouldn’t even know where to start. You wouldn’t even know how to explain how you got involved with all the upside down shenanigans to begin with. As far as you could remember, it happened when the kid you used to babysit, Dustin, roped you into it in the fall of 1984 in the search for his pet, some supernatural out of this word dog, or dart as he called it. It's not like you regretted helping him, it led you to your lovely relationship with Steve Harrington. The same Steve Harrington that you never formed an opinion on in high school, sometimes you hated him and others he was alright, likeable even. You never ran in the same social groups which led you to never talking to him unless it was for a group project. So, you were definitely shocked to find out that he had somehow agreed to helping Dustin out, wrongly assuming this was something he’d immediately say no to. But nonetheless, the two of you bonded after an oddly closure filled talk regarding love and how foolish it could be while helping Dustin search for his demodog pet thing. He was fresh out of a relationship with Nancy Wheeler, and that day he planned on wooing her and getting her back before getting wrapped out with helping with this. On the other hand, you had just dumped your boyfriend for cheating on you, something you would never put up with. And it definitely felt nice to get it off your chest. Thus, a friendship blossomed that day and overtime, your relationship was born. 

 It was needless to say that Steve was a much better boyfriend than your ex. He was sweet and caring in a way you would have never expected. He was shockingly observant, though oblivious at times, and he was loyal. He remembered how you liked your coffee and how you pretend to hate when there was pineapple on your pizza, although you secretly loved it. He knew all about your countless favorite songs and movies, always happy to spend the night with you watching one with you. He knew the perfect way to cheer you up after a hard day at work, and how to help you relax when you were too stressed. It was easy to say that it had been a good three years of loving him, but all good things come to an end, or at least faced a bump in the road to an ideal romantic place, and you and Steve were definitely stuck on that bump right now. It started off small, a small comment here and there, nothing too rude or harsh, but slowly, those little criticism of each other turned into petty arguments to avoiding each other to borderline not speaking for days if not weeks with the poor excuses of work being overbearing or getting caught up in family matters. So before you knew it, you had gone from being a perfect couple to nearly hating the others guts—although, neither of you would ever say it out loud. Unfortunately for you, all that strain in your relationship was exactly how you ended up here, arguing with your boyfriend at the worst possible time, rather than working as a team to navigate through the Hawkins lab in the upside down. 

 You were obviously irritated with Steve and his sudden need to play devil's advocate with every idea you had, offering one of his instead, when usually he just followed your lead. The group had broken up into smaller bunches, Nancy and Jonathon upstairs, which left you, Steve, and Dustin exploring downstairs, much to your dismay. The boys were in some fight you didn’t even try to understand anymore, only knowing that it was all a result of how distant Dustin had been after Eddie's death, which obviously caused a strain between them. But they weren’t the only ones who had issues, you and Steve weren’t exactly some dream couple at the moment, you hadn’t been for months. “No, Steve, that’s a horrible idea,” you complained as you walked through the halls of Hawkins lab, focused on finding anything useful to prove Dustin’s theory right as the man behind you talked your ear off about Dustin’s “attitude”, something you couldn’t bring yourself to care much about in the moment. You already thought it was foolish that they got into a physical fight earlier in the daycare room and Dustin refused to go with you two after that. You felt for the younger boy, but in the moment, your main priority was learning more about this generator idea that Dustin had proposed. “He’s just growing up, of course, he’s changing. He’s been through a lot these past few years,” you said distracted and automatically with a sigh as you turned to your boyfriend who you were sure sensed your minor annoyance with the topic as he suddenly dropped the matter. 

Usually, you were much more attentive when Steve spoke, always loving to listen to your boyfriend and help him out no matter the problem, but right now, you sounded horribly uninterested, as if listening to him was some burden you couldn’t care for. 

“Okay, sure, maybe that’s Henderson deal. But what about you, what’s with the tone?” Steve asked, tone patient but curious, like he always was with you, though his voice sounded rough.You heard the slight note of worry as he spoke, as if he thought something else was wrong in the face of your irritations, not believing it was just a result of his mishap with Dustin.  

You were sure you’ve never turned around quicker, confusion etched on your face as a soft scoff left you. “Tone? I don’t have a tone.” You wouldn’t admit it out loud, but you noticed the sudden defensive edge to your words. You always got the same when you felt accused of something, whether it be big or small, true or not, you were always quick to put up defenses. You had the same defensiveness when he teased you about drooling in your sleep or more recently, anytime you even talked to him.

“There, that’s what i’m talking about!” You would’ve been amused—and charmed— by his dramatic pointing had it not been for the slight aggravation you felt. “That tone, you’re talking like i’m annoying you. Am I annoying you or something-” 

You didn’t even bother to let him finish his question, knowing his tendency to ramble, something you would love in any moment except this one, but with the stress of recent events, it’s grown to be more of a thorn to your side than anything else.

“Jesus, are you serious? We’re right in the middle of figuring all this out and you wanna bring up my tone? Of course i’ve got a tone, i’m stressed!”

Turning around to continue looking through the halls for any clue to support Dustin’s idea, you didn’t see how Steve shook his head at your respond, but you did hear his scoff. “You see, that’s the thing, baby, you’ve been real stressed all the time.” 

As much as you did not want to have this conversation about your supposed tone right now his words, you faltered in your turn to the left, looking back at your boyfriend with a shocked, offended expression, eyes squinted as if that would make his words more sensible. “Excuse me? What is that even supposed to mean?” 

If your face hadn’t shown how badly his words had landed, your tone, which you definitely did have now, did. “Oh, cmon, you know what I mean.  You’ve got this tone all the time now, it’s all in your tone. Every single time it’s just us, you’re all dry like i’m boring you. You have this attitude to you and you’re all closed off with-”

A sharp laugh of disbelief quickly interrupted him, furrowed brows and incredulity adorning your face like he just said something ridiculous to you. 

“Oh, I have an attitude, seriously, Steve, i’m the one that’s closed off? I do not have an attitude, alright, and if I do, which I don’t, maybe it’s because you just don’t know when to quit bothering me! I mean, seriously, honey, you couldn’t have picked a better time to complain about my tone and all this bullshit? We’ve got way more important things to worry about right now than my attitude.”

The way you said honey lacked the usual warmth and love it always had, but then again, nothing you’ve said recently to him was too heartwarming. It definitely didn’t help that you were being awfully arrogant with the air quotations you did as you spoke didn't go unnoticed by him. You heard his sigh, the frustration he was trying to suppress still evident in the noise and much more when he spoke. 

He always seemed to do that when it came to you, push down any anger and irritation he had towards you to avoid making this a bigger mess than it already was. In the beginning, you used to view it as him just being patient with you, but now, it felt like he was forcing himself to swallow it all down out of obligation to avoid conflict with you. After all, you had the kind of love that was sweet and honest, this much bitterness was never supposed to happen, not in your eyes, or his, or anyone’s. 

“So this is my fault, is that what this is? Cause, if you’re mad at me, you can just say it, sweetheart, there’s no point in brushing it off by pretending you’re not!” 

The last thing anyone needed was to start fighting, especially with how tense being in the upside down already was, but it was painfully hard for you to not at least try to defend yourself against his accusation. 

“I’m not mad at you, when did I ever say I was mad at you? All I'm trying to say is that you’ve got horrible timing, Steve, I mean you can’t seriously expect me to want to argue about this right now! Thats all we do now anyway, argue! Every single day, we fight so we can just argue later! Its not like we’ve got plans to be nice to each other anyway! We can just talk about this later!” 

As much as you wished you were, you weren’t even remotely close to being wrong. In the mornings when you spent the night at his, he’d be gone before you even woken up to avoid fighting with you. You didn’t stop by anymore at the Squawk to drop off lunch for him just so you wouldn’t risk a disagreement. But worst of all, you stopped having your traditional Friday night movie dates because of how bad the tension had gotten between you. At the rate you were going, it would’ve been easier to break up—Nancy even suggested to you once when you finally talked to someone about the whole problems in your relationship—but you were convinced you still loved him. 

The silence after your little outburst was uncomfortably loud. You watched the emotions play out in his face like a film, the earlier frustration fading into something more hurt as he stayed quiet clearly processing your too honest words. Neither of you spoke up and you took it as an opportunity to keep inspecting the lab, choosing to ignore the sudden mix of feelings stirring in your stomach, specifically guilt for just snapping at him. Besides the sound of your footsteps and breathing, the halls of the building were quiet, the sudden tension unbearable. 

“Maybe, we should split up,” you muttered, desperate to diffuse some of the tension, eyes downcasted as you pointed your flash light ahead “we could cover more ground that way.” 

“Yeah,” Steve agreed with you, the first time you’ve agreed on anything these past few months without arguing about it first, “That’s a good idea.” Obviously, splitting up here was not the brightest idea but with how awkward it was between you two all of sudden, it seemed like the best idea in the world. “We definitely won’t argue that way.” His sarcasm aggravated you horribly, reaching your limit with this back and forth dancing around your issues. 

“Okay, what the hell is your problem?” 

“My problem? Jesus, baby, maybe the fact that my girlfriend won’t be honest with me about what’s bothering her so much!” 

Rolling your eyes, you shook your head as you pointed your flashlight at him. Part of you wanted to deny being upset once again, but you knew there was no use. “Fine! Fine, you want me to be honest, I’ll be honest! I don’t like this. I don’t like that we’re like this, and that we’re always fighting. It’s tiring wanting to talk to you, just to end up fighting all the time. I’m tired of us, that’s it! You wanted me to be honest, that’s the truth, Steve, I’m tired of whatever this is!” 

Your relationship had definitely gone from being romantic and envying to something that felt more like a weight of a dying commitment. You loved him, you were sure of it, but you didn’t like the nature of your relationship anymore. You missed waking up next to him while the sunlight peeked though his curtains. You missed baking cookies together on the weekends when nothing was planned. You missed when he would take you on a date at least once a week. You missed staying up late in his arms just talking about the future and your dreams. You missed how close and intimate your love had been, you missed being unconditionally in love, but truth be told, you weren’t anymore. 

The harsh reality of your words floated over the room like a cloud minutes away from causing a storm. You weren’t sure how you expected this to go, especially with everything you had just said, but you certainly didn’t expect him to get so angry with you, at least not as angry as he sounded. 

“If you’re so tired of us, then why are we still together? You don’t exactly make an effort to fix things, you just go silent on me and ignore it until you just explode like this! You think I like that? I don’t like it either, but at least i’m trying to make it better, at least I’m making an effort. Would it kill you to at least try to do the same for once?” 

The grip on your flashlight teetered, breath hitching as his words sank in slowly, the pure honesty in them hitting you harder than you wished it would. He was right, he made attempts, no matter how badly they failed recently, to reach out to you, to still be yours, but you always managed to shut them down somehow. You let out a shaky breath as you did your best to stay composed and not act rashly or escalate the argument any further.

 “…I do make an effort.” You said it so quietly that the only reason he caught was because no one else was nearby. “I just…” You had to look away for a second, the emotions hitting you as you treaded through the conversation carefully. 

“I’m scared, okay? And I know that after everything, I really shouldn’t be, but I am. I'm so scared, and not just of this.” You sighed as you lazily motioned around the room, emphasizing your point. “I’m scared for us, for you, for everything. Just with everything going on, it all feels normal in a way, like you and me. But I know it’s not, nobody worries about their boyfriend dying because of some stupid monsters! I can’t lose you and I am terrified that I might, and I can’t let that happen, because I don’t even know what i’d do if it did.” You exclaimed, sensing the familiar string of tears pooling in your eyes as you exhaled before looking at him, not even daring to try to read his expression.

 You always hated crying, never feeling safe enough to cry in front of anyone. You hated the feeling of vulnerability and the look of pity if people’s eyes. But that changed when you two became closer, something about his presence being oddly comforting and you slowly trusting him enough to open up to him. You still remembered the first time you cried to him. It was after one of your many fights with your mother, this one was worse than all of them however. The fight had been all about how distant you had become, how you barely spent time with family anymore, and as much as you had wished it didn’t affect you, it did. Your parents were hardly ever hope, so when your mother said that, you reacted and things escalated from there, resulting in you coming crying to Steve’s house. He let you get out of your system as you held onto him that night like you were terrified, and after that, he let you stay over for a whole month before you made up with your mother. Since then, whenever you had a problem or just needed to cry, you went to him. But now, crying didn’t feel safe, your guard was up after all the bickering these last few months. 

“I can’t lose you, I just can’t. I-I know the future is like something that should be the least of our worries right now, but I can’t imagine one without you in it.” You quietly admitted, tears freely streaming down your cheeks at that moment. “I love you, Steve, I really do, but I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep worrying about you all the time, because it just scares me that one day all my worries will come true.” 

In the mist of your confession, you hadn’t noticed how much closer he’d gotten to you until you felt his thumb brush away stray tears. That had been the most intimate act between the two of you recently, the most honest and vulnerable either of you had been. It was a valid fear, one that you were sure everyone in the group had but refused to admit out loud. Your hand clasped around his wrist before interlacing your free hand, shaking your head softly as if the motion could dry off your tears.

“Why did you say anything sooner? We’ve always agreed to be honest with each other. You should’ve told me, honey. I’m scared too, but I love you too much to do anything that’ll end up with leaving you alone in this mess.” 

Unable to hold back your sobs at the painful and gentle nature of his voice, you finally let one out, shrugging as your shoulders shook. “But you don’t know that, I don’t know that. Nothing is guaranteed, baby, and it’s so scary. And I think that somehow i’ve just been pushing you away because of how scared I am that something will happen to you. But I also think that’s the problem between us. We only stay with each other because we’re scared, because too much has happened that only we’ll ever understand, not because we truly love each other.” 

As your tears continued to flow, you felt his large, warm hand cupping your cheek and guiding your eyes to his. Your heart shattered as you saw how his eyes glistened at your words, a flicker of understanding in them. He didn’t rush to speak up or suggest otherwise, simply letting you get out all of your feelings.

“I love you, Steve Harrington, and I think I always will in some way, but love isn’t what’s keeping us together anymore, and you know that. I know you do.”

As your words landed and his thumb brushed away your tears, a quiet understanding settled between you two. There was no need for him to explicitly agree with you or to even try to say otherwise, because you were right. The two of you could barely stand each other, both of you draining the other more and more each day with the constant disagreement. At first, you could’ve played it off as a lovers quarrel, as simple bickering that wouldn’t affect much, but even then, it would’ve been a lie. It had been a long time coming, the fall out, the breakup. You may have had love for him, but there was no use in it if it was slowly becoming fear that kept you attached to him, and he knew that. It wasn’t simply about letting each other go or about moving on with their life paths while forgetting about the love that once burned between you, but rather about accepting that love doesn’t guarantee a happy ending, no matter how hard or long one holds onto the remnants of it. 

Before he could say anything else, the walkie talkie interrupted the silence, Dustin’s desperate voice calling out for everyone, urgency evident which caused you to immediately zone back in at the more important situation at hand, turning away from Steve, not noticing the ring glistening in his jacket’s pocket. 

you'd basically stormed out of work, your anger simmering as you pulled up outside the cameron home, your fist pounding against the door.

"rafe! open the fuck up!" you shouted, only to be left unanswered. you grabbed the fake rock you knew mr. cameron stored the spare key, unlocking the door yourself and letting it slam shut as you rushed up the stairs, your fists clenched.

and when you pulled open the door with your eyes narrowed, they fell upon rafe, sleeping blissfully in his bed, the sight enraging you even more.

"wake the fuck up!" you shouted, pulling the blanket off him, your eyes flickering to his morning wood before focusing back on his face, rafe's eyes starting to flutter open.

"damn, baby." he mumbled in a low, raspy voice that would usually cause shivers to run down your spine, "you miss me that much, huh?"

"what the fuck is this?" you held up your phone, open on the song, rafe's lips widening into a sleepy grin, "you like it? made it just for you." "no, i don't! what in your chipmunk-sized brain made you think i would ever like you putting my voicemail in your shitty ass song?!"

"woah, just because you're mad at me doesn't mean you can diss my art. the song just didn't feel right until i put your message in it. that shit gave it actual meaning, y'know?"

rafe reached out to grab something from his nightstand, and when you saw his vape in his hand, you slapped it off his hand onto the floor, "it's not art, it's an invasion of privacy, dumbass! i never gave you permission to use it!"

"c'mon, i thought it was sweet..." rafe's larger hand took yours, his thumb rubbing the back of your knuckles with his thumb, tugging you closer, "i miss you too..." "rafe, delete it. seriously."

"aight, fine, i'll delete it... don't get all worked up." he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss there, "lemme make it up to you." you raised your brows in disbelief at his boldness, "you really think i wanna fuck you after you put my voice in your song without my permission?"

"i know you haven't gotten laid in three weeks..." "and how would you know that?" "well, i know you at least haven't gotten properly fucked in three weeks." rafe tugs you onto his bed, bringing your hands to his warm, chiseled chest, "nobody touches you like i do. we both know that."

"yeah, and no one makes me as angry as you do..." you murmured, your fingers tracing his abs, biting down on your lower lip as rafe looked at you with a lazy grin, sitting up and bringing his face closer to yours, lips only inches away from yours, "but that only makes it hotter, doesn't it?" he whispered.

and if you had been any smarter, or any less horny, you would've pulled your hand away and stormed out. but instead you dove forward, your lips crashing against his.

rafe's head was between your legs, your hand holding onto bleach-blond strands of hair as if for dear life, your brows knitted together, rafe's one of rafe's hand gripping onto your thigh.

"f-fuck, rafe..." you mumbled as you felt him give a sharp suck to your clit, his fingers diving in and out of you causing an obscene squelch to echo in his room, your cheeks warm with embarrassment, "you're so fucking wet... all for me, hm?" rafe's words vibrated through your body at the same time as his long fingers hit that spongy spot inside you, your back arching off the bed as a loud moan left your lips.

"i'll take that as a yes." "s-stop being a s-smartass..." you tugged on his hair, only for rafe to pull back from your pussy, giving it a sharp smack that made you gasp, "don't tell me what to do." rafe said warningly before diving back between your legs, fingers pushing back into you, his tongue circling around your clit teasingly before he gave it another teasing suck.

you arched into his mouth, the hand that wasn't in rafe's hair clenching the sheet underneath you, "god, rafe…" you mumbled, your legs shaking even as he held onto you.

the pleasure tingling in your abdomen grew with every lap of his tongue, with every gentle nip on your folds, with every curl of his fingers inside of you, your clit throbbing as rafe sucked on it, unintelligible whimpers leaving your mouth, "rafe…" you whined, practically grinding into his mouth, chasing the pleasure he was giving you, "fuck, rafe…"

your walls started clenching, spasming around rafe's thick fingers with the force of your orgasm, the pace of his fingers slowing down to help you ride it out, "did so good for me…" he mumbled as he took his fingers out of you, climbing up your body, "open."

your lips parted and as rafe pushed his fingers into your mouth, you could taste yourself at the same time as you felt rafe thrust himself into you, gasping around his digits.

and when rafe pulled his fingers out of your mouth, you felt him pull out of you, a string of saliva connecting his fingers with your lips. "such a good girl…" he murmured, pulling another gasp out of you as he thrust back into you.

the next day as you laid in your own bed, you checked the link your friend had sent you, and the song was gone, a sigh of relief leaving your lips.

but just as you were about to put your phone away to start getting ready for work, you got a message from rafe; it was another soundcloud link followed by a text that said "you happy now?"

you chuckled softly, putting one airpod in your ear and clicking the link. and this time, when you pressed play, it wasn't your drunken voicemail.

"god, rafe..." you heard yourself moan on the track.

and the scream you let out was so loud it might've reached his house.

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